


The Desert Flower Blooms Black

by MigrantMayhem



Category: Original Work, Original setting - Fandom, original world - Fandom, peak fantasy: rpg setting
Genre: Asexuality, Language Barrier, Learning languages, Other, Writing request, gender and magic, genderfluidity, personal request, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MigrantMayhem/pseuds/MigrantMayhem
Summary: You left your home in search of a piece of your heritage.You return with a massive crush on a creature with soft scales and sharp eyes.Such is the way, isn't it?I needed a request to get used to how NaNoWriMo's website worked, and this was my warmup piece. This is not meant for like... any reader. Very specifically tailored to my best friend, enmity-encountered. But! It came out well enough that I wanted to post it, like a child hanging artwork on a fridge. This is posted with their permission.
Relationships: Genderfluid!MC x Female!Naga, Genderfluid!Reader x F!Naga, Reader x Naga
Kudos: 2





	The Desert Flower Blooms Black

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @enmity-encountered for the request!

The sun was hot in Atrapos, and it made sweat roll over your clothed back. Many others in the square wore next to nothing, the natives of Bytrizeme used to how oppressive the heat could get. You, however, were not-- you grew up far more North of here, in the kingdom of Kaldron, where the weather was cold and clammy most years. Your lineage, however, traced back to Bytrizeme and it’s desert, and your wanderlust had gotten the better of you. Using “research” as an excuse to travel away from the wizard’s tower, you found yourself in your ancestor’s homeland-- although, they were not from Atrapos. Atrapos, the gleaming City of Crystal, has all the hallmarks of a bountiful, gorgeous  _ colonist  _ city. Many of the natives to Bytrizeme were still nomadic, and while you would love to join them and learn about their culture and your heritage, you heard rumors that they were rather… hostile to outsiders.

So, you wandered through the bustling streets of Atrapos, dodging the market salesmen and window shoppers who all seemed either too observant or not enough. Finally, you saw the sign you were looking for--  _ The Desert Flower _ , a little tavern in the middle of the Atrapos trade district where you were sent to meet your guide.

You lifted the beaded fabric that made the “door” of the tavern, and slid inside the adobe structure. Although Atrapos was the City of Crystal, the gleaming towers it was known for were at the top of the city. Down in the Trade District, you noted, most buildings were made out of adobe and other cheap materials. The inside of the tavern was surprisingly cool, and it felt like there was water running through here. It was dark, as well-- illuminated by candles and lanterns hung from the low ceiling. You approached the bar, a solid slab of sandstone with a polished finish, and the barkeep looked over to you.

“What can I get for you, sir?” The barkeep asked in Saanki.  _ Oh, thank Auror,  _ You thought. That experimental charm was actually working-- now that you were feeling more masculine, people were perceiving you as such.

“Ah, one hyati,” You responded back, a little bashfully. Saanki was not your native language, and it showed. The words were clumsy off of your lips and felt like chewing bricks just trying to say the words right. “And am looking for, ah, Kssyain?” You asked.

“Kssyain? Got a trip to the desert planned?” The barkeep barked, laughing as he set down the hyati-- a cold, cactus wine that burned on the way down. You sipped it, laughing awkwardly with the man.

“Yes-- I am scholar. From Kaldron.” Ugh, you hated how you sounded.

He studied you thoughtfully. “Very well. Kssyain!” He hollered towards the back of the tavern, and you held your breath in anticipation. Your eyes watched toward the direction he called. You caught a glimpse of movement from the other side of the portiere covering what you assume would be the back room, or maybe a lounge, and then it was pushed aside by a dove gray, scaly, clawed hand.

Revealing itself was a naga-- leaning back into its fluid movement, muscular tail propelling itself across the dirt floor. It locked eyes with you-- a soft lavender iris with those striking, narrowing slits as it focused on your form, and you suddenly got the impression that it was sizing you up-- what that meant made you either very uncomfortable or very,  _ very  _ afraid. You sat a little straighter in your seat-- you were notoriously good at tolerance in Kaldron-- one of the only wizards who had befriended a goblin. You tried to pack old prejudices and old myths about the desert naga away, but the instinctual fear held you rigid.

It glided up to you, and it took all your willpower not to jump back when she leaned in. Its face was that of a ball python, with a flat head and rounded snout, appearing shorter and flatter than the real snakes you’ve seen. Its scales appeared to be piebald-- you made a mental note of that, piebald colorations were often only seen in domesticated animals-- with various shades of dove gray splotches covering a large portion of them. Its chest was covered with what appeared to be a leather harness with a sheer, dark violet fabric sewed to it that flowed over its alabaster underbelly. Judging by the choice of attire, you’d dare to guess that this naga is female, although they, as a species, lack any dimorphism discernible to the human eye. Although, you of all people should know better than to assume things by appearance.

Her tongue darted out, and you nearly jumped. Your skin crawled, almost able to feel the very tips of that forked tongue. Her tongue retreated, and then she leaned back, form pushing up off the floor and settling onto the barstool across from you. Her lizard-like hand was brought up, elbow resting on the counter, before she started making motions that you only realized after she had finished was a type of sign language.

“Yeah, this is the one who wanted you. Says he’s a scholar from Kaldron. Sound like anyone you know?”

Her scaled mouth pulled into a smug grin, signing back to the barkeep.

“W-What she saying?” You fumbled, looking to the barkeep.

“You don’t speak Slythi Sign, and you hired a naga to guide you through the desert?”

The naga, who you realized now was supposed to be your guide, Kssyain, simply leaned back further, until she was resting her shoulder blades against the wall behind her. You felt yourself flush in embarrassment.

“I-- I did not know.”

Kssyain offered a toothless smile, revealing the ridges of her gums. She snapped twice before making the unmistakable motion of a quill and paper. You felt your head clear of it’s confusion and reached into your bag. You produced a pad of parchment and a charcoal pencil, handing it to her. She nodded, taking them from you before scribbling across them. When she handed it back, you found she wrote <<It’s okay, Adrian, you’ll learn,>> in Saanki. 

You were much better at reading Saanki than speaking it, so at least this was a plus.

<<Thank you for your patience. My apologies for not arriving prepared.>>

Her head tilted, and she nodded. She wrote again on the paper.

<<You can speak to me, you know. I am not deaf.>>

You glanced between her and the paper, before writing back.

<<And embarrass me with my bad understanding? I’ll write.>>

That caused Kssyain to laugh, a raspy, hissing sound that sounded like a combination of a cat’s purr and a wheeze.

<<Very well. Tell me again about what you want to accomplish with the Sankrii tribe?>>

<<I’ve been having dreams about the desert sands and the fire of the hunt. My great grandmother was from the Sankrii, so I think this may be a message from her.>>

<<Do you often get messages from the dead?>>

You laughed. <<Oh, my great grandmother isn’t dead. Comatose? Yes. But she is being preserved very neatly at the moment. She communicates with the family telepathically.>>

Kssyain stared at the parchment, and then to you.

<<Are all the people of the north so strange?>>

<<No, it’s my specialty.>>

She grinned. <<Good.  _ Askathe  _ bore me.>>

You paused. Your language lessons didn’t go this far. You circled the word you didn’t recognize. She hesitated, eyes narrowing and pupils contracting to slits. You studied her scaly face-- watching it wrinkle as she furrowed her brow, skin puckering where the scales met at the seams, her pink tongue darting out of her mouth as she thought. One of her claws traced lines down the underside of her chin. She finally wrote something down.

<<Normal people. My apologies.>>

Ah, that’s what she meant. Made sense-- she was a desert guide.

<<So you wish to join them on a hunt? How do you suppose they’ll take to that? You hardly speak our language, let alone theirs.>>

<<Good thing about having a telepathic great grandmother, is she already taught me the important words and phrases. Learn faster when things are put right into your head.>>

<<I have many questions regarding this great grandmother, Adrian, but first we must pack for our journey. You will need about two weeks of supplies-- I trust that you have enough, seeing as you’re from a  _ Kualkazoa _ ?>>

‘Kualkazoa’ must have meant ‘wizard tower’ in their language. You hadn’t heard if before, but it felt nice on the tongue. 

And yes, you had plenty of money for the journey and for the payment to Kssyain, but you were kind of hoping to not blow all of it. Ah, well. You had to come back with some pretty interesting artifacts, then.

<<Yes, I do. What do you recommend?>>

She brought one clawed finger to her lips, tapping idly while she thought. She turned the paper over-- you two were running out of space.

When she handed it back to you, you had a comprehensive list of everything you’d probably need for the journey, including a recipe for the cultural warpaint of the Sankrii tribe. There was a time and place to meet, and a note at the bottom of the page, too.

<<This sign means ‘goodbye,’ by the way.>>

She waited until you looked up and then began to walk you through the simple sign. It was only using one hand, a fluid, round wrist motion followed by a snap. You could do that. You repeated it, sloppily you’re sure, but she still smiled nonetheless. She gave you a solid pat on the back, before repeating the sign. She slithered away towards the back of the shop, and you assumed your meeting was over. Now you had to scour through Atrapos to find the list of things she told you to bring as well as your own personal necessities. Now, here’s hoping you didn’t get lost…

  
  


Sunrise came suddenly the next day, but you were completely packed. You left your bed in the inn you were staying at and tugged on your boots. Grabbing the napsack you made of all your supplies, you quickly left, thanking the innkeeper on your way out. You were feeling more feminine this morning, so you chose to wear your tower robes-- this may have been excellent foresight on your end, as they ended up being much cooler in the hot desert sun than your travelling clothes. You rushed down the streets of Atrapos to meet Kssyain by the gates of the city.

She was lazily leaning against a very calm camel, tail coiled beneath her, eyes shut peacefully as she sunbathed. One eye slowly opened when she heard your footsteps, lavender iris flexing to adjust to the sun. She signed to you something that looked like ‘goodbye’ but backwards, so you could only assume it was a greeting. You mimicked it to the best of your ability.

She grinned, and she pulled a stone tablet from under her arm and began to write something on it in charcoal. You noticed she was wearing a white shawl today, one that wrapped around her head and looped once over her chest-- much less stylish, far more practical. You supposed she was on the job today. She also wore a belt that hung just around her waist, held up by the thickness of her tail, that was covered in blades. Well, at least you felt safe in her company, if not mildly threatened. She turned the tablet around, and started signing at the same time.

<<You smart. I know you fast.>>

You followed her steps, trying to get a feel for how the words formed on your fingers. 

“Why so broken?” You asked her, “I am good with languages.”

She flipped the tablet back around, rubbed out the words written, and wrote again.

<<Slythi Sign is trade tongue. Few word need. Buy, sell, trade, direction.>>

You nodded. You followed her signing again. In that case, this should be a rather easy language to learn.

She flipped the board over once more, repeating the motions-- erasing and rewriting. 

<<We go Southeast into Desert. Week to arrive. Good with sword?>>

You mimicked her hands again, before you realized that last part was a question.

“Oh, yes. Decently.”

She signed back at you. You paused. She nodded with the sign, eyes expectant. Oh, she was repeating what you had said. You mimicked the sign. This was starting to come more easily. At first the hand signs were awkward but they were already feeling more natural. It would take practice, but you could get there in the next two weeks.

She rewrote on the board again, <<Big Danger in Desert. Ready?>>

You nodded. “Never been readyier.”

You cringed inwardly at yourself, but she chuckled. Ah, embarrassing yourself in front of a pretty girl, just another day in life for you, huh? She snapped-- literally-- at the guards, who opened the gate behind her. She grabbed the camel by the reigns, who grunted his complaint, but didn’t protest. You followed her out the gate and into the white landscape of the Bytrizeme Sands. Your adventure awaited, and you took a deep breath.

<<Nervous?>> She asked, both on her hands and on her tablet.

You walked yourself through the sign at your hip, but shrugged.

“Excited. Very different from Kaldron.”

She nodded. <<Love see Kaldron. Never visit.>>

“Not much there. Just grass and trees and old stone buildings.”

<<More than here.>>

You paused. “But here is beautiful.”

<<Never see many plant. Only Oasis.>>

Your eyes fell on Kssyain’s sleek form as she moved over the sandstone pathway out of the city. Her muscular, beautiful tail extended far behind you, her torso leaned back, almost in a manner that made her look relaxed. She could be relaxed on this journey, couldn’t she? She’d made this trip who knows how many times, was advertised as having Bytrizeme sand in her veins, and carried enough knives to keep any predator or neerdowell at bay. You felt safe in her presence, but also intimidated. But then to know she had never left the Sands, to know that the presence of trees and grass was completely unknown to her…

You were going to take her to Kaldron after this. You were determined, now. She deserved her own adventure.

The sands shifted on the horizon ahead of you. Your journey had begun.

The path was long, and the road unsteady. Thank Auror that Kssyain had the good sense to tell you to buy sand shoes, otherwise you would have been buried alive by now. Kssyain had no trouble navigating the unsteady sands beneath her-- she sank into them, no question-- the tip of her tail was practically buried, but every motion flicked enough sand off of her scales to reveal the dark gray patches across them. You had been taught that the region got its name, the Bytrizeme Sands, from the naga emperor who conquered it an age ago. You now understood how naga generals took over so quickly-- they were designed to move through these sands. You tightened your grip on your bag as the wind pulled at you, and marched forward.

The sun had began to set by now, your first day coming to an end. Kssyain scanned the horizon before pointing in the distance.

She signed one word, that you were able to recognize from your day of practice-- << There.>>

You began the march to the hill in the sands.

<<Want high point,>> She signed and wrote, <<Can see dangers.>>

“How much dangers are in the Sands?” You asked.

<<Many.>> She only signed that bit, flipping her board around. She must have been writing clarification.

She flipped it again, << _ Akirala, harasyli, abaratash, kiatre,  _ all in desert.>>

“What are those?” You ask, pointing to the words you didn’t understand.

Kssyain seemed to stop. She blinked, looking at the word, tracing the word on her fingers in Slythi Sign before letting one claw drag across the scales under her chin. She did that when she was thinking, you noticed. Maybe you shouldn’t be picking up on those habits so quickly, especially on a stranger you were probably never going to see again. Your heart dropped at the mere thought, and you were surprised at the feeling. You swallowed the emotion and focused back on Kssyain.

She tapped the first word,  _ Akirala _ , and started going through motions-- these weren’t sign words, they were descriptives-- she was playing charades.

She ran one hand down her arm, tapping her scales, before putting her hands up on the top of her head and holding her fingers up like spines. She gestured widely, like a “it was this big” sign, and then moved her hands up to her mouth, curving her finger so they looked like long, sharp teeth.

You were starting to get the picture, nodding.

_ Harasyli  _ was next. She made flapping motions with her arms, and folded her hands in front of her mouth, making motions like a beak. And then she did the same motion for teeth. Your eyes widened-- you could see the images in textbooks in the tower-- the desert razorbeak, a type of raptor that had sharp, slicing teeth within it’s beak. Larger than the other raptors in its family and twice as deadly.

Kssyain saw the recognition in your eyes and couldn’t help but grin. <<Hear of it?>>

You nodded, “It’s called  _ Higgloc Karranow  _ in my tongue.”

She cocked her head slightly, before smiling a little.

“What?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious.”

<<Tongue pretty,>> She signed, <<Hear more of it.>>

You cursed your heart for jumping.

<<Here,>> She signed, pulling the tent stakes off of the camel, who had been so calm and easy-going you had almost forgotten he was there. She passed a few to you, which you took gladly. She marked a few spots in the sand with the tip of her tail, and you buried the tips of your stakes there. 

She pointed to the middle of the stakes, so you went to the center and began to hold them up-- this was a complicated process for you, as the five tent stakes slid out of the sand very easily, but Kssyain was able to hold them in place easily. She had coiled herself around the base of the tent, while still having enough length to tie the tops you were holding. As soon as they were secure, she handed you a thread of rope and pointed to the circumference of the tent. You nodded-- you were wondering how the stakes were going to stay in place otherwise. You tied the rope to each stake at the bottom, making sure the line between each stake was tight, but not pulling them into one another. Soon the tent was, relatively, structurally sound. You were a little worried-- the tent was so squat, in order to avoid being blown away, that you weren’t sure you were going to be able to fit. You then paused, noticing there was only one tent on the camel. You didn’t know how both you  _ and  _ Kssyain would be able to fit.

Kssyain uncoiled herself and stretched the tarp-- which looked like it was made of camelskin-- across the stakes. She held up her hand to wait as she slipped inside. You held your breath, taking a moment to admire the stars peaking out, before your clothes started getting slapped with sand. You backed up a few steps, looking back down at the tent.

Sand was being ejected from out of the bottom of the tent like a tornado had gotten trapped within it. You put your hands up to block any sand from getting in your eyes, and after a good two minutes, Kssyain peeked her head out-- chin laying on the ground. Her hand stuck out afterwards-- <<Jug.>> Another vocabulary word from today.

You nodded, getting one of the ten jugs off of the camel. You gave it to her, and she receded back into the tent.

After another minute, she put the jug outside the tent, now empty, and beckoned you inside.

You crawled in and immediately fell on your face. The sand inside of the tent was suddenly two feet lower than it was outside. The walls were cool, wet-- that’s what the water was for. Kssyain was curled up on one side of the tent, lounging over herself, looking rather proud. You straightened yourself out, dusting the sand out of your robes. The tent was, in fact, big enough for the two of you.

<<Naga technique,>> She signed and wrote. You nodded. The sand on the walls was well-packed, meaning that without direct interference, sand wouldn’t naturally settle back into the hole until morning. 

“Impressive,” You nodded, applauding her craftsmanship. She flicked her tongue happily.

You settled your bedroll into the pit, a little squished but still comfortable, and sat up.

<<I take first shift,>> Kssyain signed and wrote. You shook your head.

“No, I will. I’m not close to tired yet, and you deserve some rest.”

Kssyain looked at you curiously, before she nodded. <<Okay.>>

_ Well, she didn’t sign “Okay,” _ You thought idly while you exited the tent. That sign was an agreement, you knew now, but its meaning had everything to do with context. Her sign said “okay,” but her body language read “if you insist.”

You wondered absently if you had broken some unspoken rule between travelers and guides with your uncanny sleeping habits, that the guide always took the first shift to allow the guest some rest. You hoped she wasn’t offended.

The stars twinkled above you and beside you-- the sky was so much broader in the desert than it was back home, and the sheer majesty of it consumed you.

The night was long and unyielding, but you had plenty of books to keep you occupied and enough lamp oil to last you until the end of days. The camel-- you were going to call him Humphrey-- was laying behind you, shifting between sleeping and staring out at the horizon. He made for a very sturdy backrest-- nearly as comfortable as those awful, stiff wooden chairs the library in the Tower had. You closed the book you were reading, drawing the fraying ribbon you used as a bookmark between the pages, and rubbed your eyes. The moon was high, meaning it was almost time to wake Kssyain and for you to take your turn struggling to sleep.

You felt Humphrey stiffen behind you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You heard the beating of heavy wings coming from behind you, and Humphrey stood up abruptly before rearing. You scrambled to your feet as well, eyes trained on the sky.

A dark blot on the clear, starry sky alerted you to your avian predator. You watched it warily, hoping it would pass over and not bother you, but somehow you knew better.

You shifted your stance, feet spread shoulder-width and at an angle and hands balled into fists in front of you. You saw its wings fold, diving for you.

With a deep breath, you forced your mind to clear. You reared your fist back before shooting it forward. You opened your palm and a ball of pure energy shot forth, striking the giant bird and electrifying it.

It screamed in pain, tumbling to the sand below.

It shifted slightly, not dead but not really a threat. Well, that was easy.

A cacophony of similar screams came from the sky.

When you looked back up, you realized that the whole sky was dark as a cave and was  _ moving _ .

Oh, sweet son of a fuck.

_ “Kssyain!!”  _ You yelled, widening your stance.

You felt your heart race in your ears as you tried to force up the burning man technique. The burning man was always a little reckless, you had been taught, but you had always been rather good at it, too. They say it’s the most effective when people aren’t afraid of losing themselves in the process. You were never afraid of losing yourself, if it meant getting things done.

The birds descended, now with a purpose-- you had harmed one of their own. Humphrey reared up and scattered, and you absently thought through the flames that lapped at your body that it would be a shame if he got lost in this desert. Not only would you and Kssyain have to carry the tent spokes, but you were starting to get attached.

You brought your flaming arms in a broad circle around your head, chastising yourself for letting your thoughts wander. If you didn’t stay completely focused, you yourself would burn up.

The flames licked at some of the closest birds and they caught fire like a parchment soaked in oil. They squealed and squaked as they plummeted to the sands. That was the benefit of the burning man-- no one could touch you without igniting like a torch.

You kept your arms in front of you, trying to block and evade the vicious birds. You were vaguely aware of Kssyain leaving the tent, and then heard a sharp intake from her.

You continued your dance, watching as more and more of the birds ignited without getting a scratch on you. You could see blades reflecting the light of your fire as they danced, meaning Kssyain was also thinning the flock.

Cool teeth sank into your hot flesh, and you yelped. In your moment of distraction the birds-- most assuredly razorbeaks-- had perched onto your temporarily outstretched arm and sank its horrible teeth into your bicep. You yelled, grabbing the bird around the throat. It was on fire, and it didn’t care, seeming to lock eyes with you as it clamped down. You squeezed as tight as you could, finally getting the bird to loosen enough to yank off of your arm. You hissed and threw it into the sand, before stomping on it.

Your blood felt cold as it slithered down your arm, dripping into the sand where it burned only for a second before extinguishing. 

You heard Kssyain hiss, voice harsh and breathy, tongue rolling against her gums. She was trying to tell you something, but she couldn’t use her hands. 

You felt your fingers burning.

Your mind wandered too far and you shut Kssyain out. The pain on your arm and fingers was enough of a distraction already, you didn’t need another. Soon the pain stopped spreading and you began your dance again, ignoring the throbbing of your fingertips or the gushing of your wound. Perhaps if you…

You took a risk, bringing one hand up to the large laceration in your arm and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Cover!” You yelled to Kssyain. You didn’t know if she heard you.

You slowly focused the feeling of fire over your wounds-- it was difficult targeting what parts of the flesh were okay to burn, and what weren’t. You yelled in pain, gritting your teeth as you felt the already wounded skin char and scab over. Miraculously, it worked exactly as intended. You were no longer bleeding, now.

Filled with new rage, you let the burning man spell drop. You brought your arms into yourself and surged forth a bolt of electricity that arced from your hands across the sky. Birds wailed as they were struck. Only a few were left unharmed, and they turned and flew away.

Kssyain hissed worriedly, coming over to you. She didn’t make it out unscathed, either-- there was a minor gash on the side of her head, turning the gray scales red.

“I’m good,” You said weakly. Oh, you were in a lot of pain.

She signed at you, <<No, in tent.>>

You obliged.

“What about camel?” You asked, seating yourself on your bedroll while Kssyain dug through her satchel. She produced bandages and some gauze, before she studied your wounds more carefully. She replaced the gauze for ointment.

<<Well trained. He come back.>> She signed, applying the ointment to your burns gently. It was so frigid against your skin, it made you shiver and gasp. She took each one of your burnt fingers and rested it in the ointment-- just enough to get a good cover on all of them. Then she wrapped all your wounds-- not too tightly, but securely.

“Thank you,” You muttered softly.

<<Magic danger,>> She signed, <<No careful you.>>

“I am careful,” you argued weakly, “It was worth the danger.”

She signed something you didn’t recognize.

“What does that mean?”

She reached for the board, snatching it and scribbling on it, <<I’d prefer if you didn’t get yourself killed.>>

You rolled your eyes, “You can take the money off my body.”

She hissed, and it sounded… angry.

<<No talk that way.>>

You looked at her and suddenly felt her anger. There was some sort of bond between you-- you had felt it from her first toothless grin. Kssyain and you were meant for something far greater than this, and if you let yourself die recklessly to a flock of razorbeaks, you’d never get to know what it was.

You straightened up, noticing the wound on her head again.

“You’re hurt,” You say softly, “Let me help.”

She seemed to take a moment to consider this kindness, but she finally agreed, laying flat on her belly with her head bowed to you.

“Come here. I don’t bite,” You joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

She slithered a little closer, before she rested her arms across your lap and her head atop her arms.

You dabbed at the cut-- it wasn’t very deep, thank Niance-- and wrapped it with gauze. 

She picked up the discarded board again, writing upon it.

<<Feels funny.>>

“The gauze?”

<<No. Legs.>>

“You can move, if you’d like. You have no reason to linger.”

<<Yes, you are warm. I like.>>

You felt yourself blush faintly at the comment. You knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but… still. You leaned your back against the sand wall of the tent, feeling exhaustion overcome you. You heard Kssyain hiss something, but couldn’t understand it. 

Finally sleep overtook you, and your dreams were full of snakeskin.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like this? Feel free to check out my fiction account on tumblr:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/migrant-mayhem


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